


Guns and Roses

by nomical



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1547600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bad op results in Clint getting shot and Phil revealing his knowledge on the language of flowers. No one is surprised about either of these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [Luminoptica's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminoptica) fault. Seriously, go yell at her. It's also a little bit Clark Gregg's fault for having a photo like [this](http://37.media.tumblr.com/3adb8cf565089fa2bdfa64a8700b4da9/tumblr_n4t4ky9dVd1qawsvqo1_500.jpg) that gives me ideas. But mostly the above mentioned prompter.
> 
> This is my first time writing in the Marvel universe so go easy on me and my awkward fumbles with these characters. It's set sometime between the events in Thor and The Avengers. Warnings for gun violence/non-fatal wounds. Because what's a Clint/Coulson story if one of them doesn't get shot?
> 
> All copyright for these characters belong to someone far more awesome than me. I make no money off any of this.

It was a routine op; textbook to the point of boredom. A simple interception of low-priority intel between two underworld mobster types. Once the intel was passed, the job was just to place a couple trackers on the involved parties. Not even high enough on SHIELD's priority list to set a full team on it. It was such a routine op that it was laughable. Which is why it took everyone by surprise when it went to shit.

The simple interception of low-priority intel became a hell of a lot more difficult when Hydra showed up to crash the party. Either SHIELD was getting sloppy with its classification of intel or Hydra was getting desperate for any kind of new leads on the software front. Either way, Clint thought this was a gross overreaction to the latest Hammer Phone specs. He couldn't picture being desperate enough to send a full unit in to retrieve the plans, much to the horror of the gang factions and the mild concern of his handler.

The biggest piss off of the whole thing, Clint thought as he rolled down an aisle, sniping a Hydra goon in the back before he even knew Clint was there, was that this was all taking place in a fucking flower shop. Secret military base: sure. Abandoned warehouse: why not? Adorable flower shop with petals raining down around him: not okay. Fucking Hydra. He ducked under a table just as a bullet whizzed overhead and took out a display of perennials. Coming out on the other side, a hand grabbed him around the neck and yanked him down another aisle.

"Easy sir, you don't want to start something you can't finish," he picked off a gang member who had the misfortune of thinking their aisle was a bastion of safety.

"Keep your head in the game, Agent," said Coulson, his back pressed flush to Clint's quiver.

"Oh it is in the game sir. But seriously? Fuck Hydra. They are so fucking stupid to just come crashing in here. Honestly, we could probably have sex in this aisle right now and get the damn intel back."

"This isn't a retrieval mission Barton, it's a-"

"Catch and release, I know. But that's what I'm saying; we could have sex, round up the mafia, tag 'em, set them free again, and get back the completely useless intel that we don't even want, and still come out of this on top."

"Barton," Coulson sighed in a way that suggested pain would be coming his way later.

"Hydra must be just as bored as SHIELD is, sending all these goons after a Hammer phone." A mass of bodies appeared at Clint's end of the aisle, and he pushed Coulson up and around the corner before they could start firing. "I mean, a Stark phone? Sure, I can maybe see what Hydra could want with it. But a Hammer phone? Really?"

Coulson took a shot over Clint's shoulder before throwing him over the front counter. A moment later, he vaulted over, his hand coming down hard on the old fashioned cash register. The drawer popped open with a cheerful ding and Clint couldn't help but smirk.

"You going to buy me a flower sir?"

"Barton, you come out of this without a bullet in you and I'll buy you every flower in the shop." Coulson ducked low and got a hit on a goon's shin. The man went down with a cry, taking half a dozen azalea-filled buckets with him.

Clint flashed Coulson a grin as he twisted behind one of the ornate topiary designs. "You always know how to make a girl feel like a princess." He tapped a button on his bow and selected one of the more interesting arrows in his arsenal.

As always, Coulson could read the tells of his body; the subtle gleam in his eyes, the quirk around his lips.

"Agent, I'm only going to say this once: no explosives."

"But sir-"

"Do you want to bring this building down on us?"

"It's a new build sir, erected in the mid seventies, dressed to look Victorian. The blast radius would be contained to the north-west corner. At most, we'd get a little dust up our noses." He fit the arrow in place, his body adjusting the angle instinctively.

"True," Coulson dropped two more men in rapid succession. "But you missed the sloppy patch job done in the alley. This place has clearly had some work done on it by less than certified people. And, if the baseboards are anything to go by, some sort of infestation in the last six months. All these factors lead me to a less than satisfying conclusion about the structural stability of this place."

"Fine," Clint sighed, "no explosions." And he meant it too, he really honestly meant it. But before he could even relax his grip, two Hydra goons burst through the back door, both armed with Panzerfausts. Clint swore and, in a rookie mistake, stood still for a second too long. Because really, who was dumb enough to bring anti-artillery bazookas to a shoot out in a god damn flower shop. Good luck trying to read the intel after the massive explosion that was about to happen. Fucking Hydra.

Beside him, never breaking his cool, Coulson broke him out of his rage spiral.

"Take the shot."

It was all Clint needed: the calm, unaffected tones of Phil Coulson to anchor him to the world and yank him back to the task at hand. Aiming high, Clint let the arrow loose at the same moment one of the Hyrda grunts took advantage of Clint's prolonged moment of exposure. The bullet caught him high in his chest and he was knocked backwards off his feet. Coulson was on the ground before Clint could even finish falling and he landed half on the floor, half on his handler. Bow still clutched in his grip, Clint pressed the trigger that caused the shop to explode around them. Between the blood loss, shock wave, and bits of debris raining down around them, Clint was feeling less than thrilled about the situation. Bullet wound: fine. Bullet wound plus explosion: a little less than fine. Bullet wound plus explosion plus debris: not fine. A stray chunk of trellis clipped him on the side of his head, and Clint's last moment of lucid thought was that the idiot grunt that had shot him had probably saved both their lives by getting them on the ground so fast.

***

"Agent, Barton, are you with me?"

Agent. Barton. Objectively, Clint knew these were both names he responded to but responding seemed like a hell of a lot of work right now. There was a hand shaking his shoulder and ouch, that was shaking something that was connected to a painful bit.

"Damn it Clint, come on!"

Clint, that was new. He didn't hear that much from that particular mouth. Mostly it was just 'agent' or 'Barton' or 'idiot' if Coulson was in a particularly tetchy mood and- Coulson. Bazookas. Fucking Hydra. Intel. Goons. Flower shop. Princess.

Clint came back to the present with a surge of adrenaline. The sudden rush brought him clarity but it didn't stop him from being a smart mouth.

"Roses."

"What?"

"Roses sir. You owe me a big bunch. And lilies, let's throw some lilies in there as well, tiger lilies are my favourite. Maybe some tulips too, something in a spring colour."

"You have truly appalling taste in flowers." And Clint didn't have to look at his face to know what expression was there; the eye roll was visible in his voice.

"If I recall correctly sir, you owe me a shit ton of flowers." Clint opened his eyes and tried to push himself up but Coulson's hands held him in place, one hand on his sternum, the other applying pressure to his shoulder wound.

"That was only if you didn't get shot, Barton." His face was its usual mask of calm but they knew each other inside and out. The lines around the corners of his mouth said 'I'm extremely unhappy with you right now' but the sparkle in his eyes said 'thank baby Jesus you're okay'.

"Technically, the terms of our agreement stipulated I get the flowers if I walked away without a bullet in me. Correct me if I'm wrong sir, but that was a through and through, yeah?"

"God, I hate you sometimes." Coulson's lips twitched, which was practically a peal of laughter in Coulson speak and Clint felt safe to push his luck.

"Gardenias, I want buckets of them. And daisies, all the daisies."

"You're allergic to daisies." The corners of Coulson's eyes crinkled and Jesus, Clint must have really scared him what with the bleeding and the unconscious because cracks in his façade on missions were few and far between.

"Doesn't matter sir," Clint gave him a shit eating grin to show just how alright he was. "I'll just OD on Reactin. They are going on every surface. Besides, your mum is visiting next week and daisies are her favourite."

"How do you-"

"Christmas '09. We were talking about Julie's upcoming nuptials and mum was lamenting the fact they were going with a winter wedding which meant no daises."

Coulson blinked at him for a few moments and Clint savoured the sweet victory that was wrong footing one Phil Coulson.

"Barton?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Right back at you sir."

"Which makes it unfortunate that so much of the shop got destroyed in our little shootout," Coulson raised his chin and Clint followed his gaze. He took in as much as he could from his position without incurring the wrath of his shoulder wound or the wrath of Coulson for moving too much and whistled low at the widespread floral carnage.

"We sure know how to rack up a cleaning bill."

"I'm not sure that's something you should be proud about. In fact, I'm fairly certain Director Fury would disagree with that emotion entirely."

"C'mon sir, even you have to admit, that was a pretty boss explosion."

"And that right there is you're going to take another psych eval as soon as you've been cleared by medical."

"Aw, can't you do anything about that?"

"It's cute that you think I don't want you to take the eval either."

"With all due respect sir, this sucks. This building was going down one way or another thanks to fucking Hydra showing up, and frankly I should get some kind of bonus for only taking out half of it."

"It's the perverse level of glee you're showing at the destruction that worries me Barton."

"Well at least I'm getting something out of this since apparently all my flowers got blown up," Clint grumbled.

Coulson raised his eyebrows. "Yes, it's a real shame they're all gone. Oh, I forgot, except for this one," he deadpanned. He reached behind him with the hand not keeping Clint from bleeding out and produced a perfect white bloom.

Clint raised his good arm and cupped the rose gently in his hand. "Aww sir, it's perfect. And so white! Did you shield it from the blast with your body?"

"No dumbass, I was shielding you. The flower blew into the side of your face and gave you the puncture wounds on your cheek. I figured it was only right for you to keep it, given that I'm pretty sure this is the first time an agent can claim 'injury by flowers' on a med report in recent history."

"Don’t ruin the moment," Clint took and over exaggerated inhale and fluttered his eyelashes. "So romantic, and hey, speaking of marriage, isn't white the colour you use when proposing?"

"No."

"It is, white means your love for me is as pure as new fallen snow," he crowed. "I can't wait to tell Nat you finally manned up and popped the question."

"So help me god Barton, I will stick you with a sedative and you will spend the wait for the med team drooling onto your shirt."

"Understood." Clint shot him one last lazy smile before closing his eyes and settling back to wait for the support staff.

"And you're wrong," Coulson commented offhandedly.

Clint cracked an eye open. "Hmm?"

"It's not the colour of roses that's important, it's the shape. A single full blossom means 'I love you; I still love you'."

"Of course you know the language of flowers," Clint laughed. Coulson was tapping away on his phone, probably preparing to yell at the medics for not already being there, and pointedly not looking at Clint.

"Twice in one op, you're getting sloppy sir," Clint smirked. Coulson hummed in a resigned manner and lifted the phone to his ear as Clint wove their fingers together over his bullet wound, settling the single full blossom in the space between their thumbs.


End file.
